


Filled, Semi-Filled, and Forgiven Debts

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Bisexual Bronn (ASoIaF), Bisexual Tyrion Lannister, Brothers, Jaime Lannister Lives, Late Night Conversations, Love, M/M, Male Friendship, Minor Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, POV Bronn (ASoIaF), Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. Snapshot looks of Bronn from before the Blackwater battle to after the final battle against the Others with a focus on his slightly deeper than friends-with-benefits type relationship with Tyrion. Complete.
Relationships: Bronn/Tyrion Lannister
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Filled, Semi-Filled, and Forgiven Debts

Stumbling into Tyrion’s room, Bronn has his breeches half undone when he hears soft snoring, and gods know Tyrion is a snorer, but ‘soft’ is never a word he’d use to describe those snores.

Finding the curtains, he opens them, and the moonlight reveals Podrick Payne sleeping at the foot of the bed.

Hauling the boy into a sitting position, he orders, “Oi, go sleep outside.”

“Ser Bronn,” is the sleepy question.

Sitting up, “Bronn, what are you doing here,” is the slightly more alert but still largely unfocused contribution by Tyrion.

“Take a guess. Up, lad. I don’t care where you go, but you’re not staying here.”

Finally, some alertness comes into Pod’s eyes, and his body is no longer so malleable as he looks between the two. “Lord Tyrion?”

The boy, he realises, is afraid, not for himself, or at least, not entirely, but for his little lord master.

Reasonable enough, he supposes. He’s not drunk, but it’d be a not undue assumption given the state he is in, and a man his size, regardless of any training, could easily do great harm to a dwarf. Add drunkenness to the mix-

“It’s fine, Podrick. Go sleep on my big couch.”

“Are, um, are you s-sure, my lord?”

“If I wanted him dead, he and you would both already be dead. Now,” and he doesn’t mince his words in telling Podrick to leave.

Pod does, though, he also leaves the door open behind him, and if it were anyone else- the boy’s got some impressive spirit for one who’s usually so tongue-tied and fumble-footed.

Closing the door, he finishes undoing his breeches, and tossing his shirt with them and his shoes, he crawls into bed.

“Even if Pod will stay quiet, and he likely will, others might well start making assumptions based on-”

“Do you care?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good. Glad we agree.” Letting himself yawn, he stretches his sore muscles. “Are you and he-”

The moonlight hitting Tyrion’s face cuts off his question.

If he thought the expression was ridiculously offended, the tone is even worse. “He’s a boy.”

He almost asks how old Tyrion was when he first did more with another person as opposed to his hand, but he catches himself. Right, the wife who wasn’t.

“He’s a squire. A damn terrible one, but still. Older than that flowery Tyrell was when he started carrying on with Renly.”

“Be that as it may, I prefer my whores and occasional- whatever the correct term would be for someone such as yourself to be older than my niece and nephews.”

Feeling his aching, twitching muscles under his burnt, dried out skin and already imagining how sore and stiff they’ll be in the morning, he comments, “Definitely fit that.”

…

There’s a new tenseness from Podrick when he’s around, and part of him is tempted to ask if the boy’s one of the rare religious lot who can resist the urge to spread the message or truly just worried about poor little Lord Tyrion.

Stupid lad, if it’s the latter.

This is something he’d never say, largely, because, he knows how most people would react, but he does have a certain amount of respect for prostitutes. He feels bad for some, but some of them, they decided they’d rather not be some man’s wife with a passel of brats likely thrown in when, in addition to this, there was a good chance their man would stray. That left septa and maybe a few other choices, but not many. Sex, it’s a guarantee, there will always be someone willing to trade or pay for it even when there’s mass starvation.

For all his respect for them, he was born with a cock, and he’d rather die fighting than resort to having someone dictate who with and how and when he does or doesn’t use it.

Likewise, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to cross too big a line with anyone who has Lannister influence.

He’d considered finding a pretty, willing woman for Tyrion before the battle with that Stark upstart boy-king, but then, he’d decided to see if the fun could stay between them that night, and Tyrion had been more-than-willing.

...

Pod’s sleeping on the couch when he comes in.

Shame he’s liable to die tomorrow.

And so will I, goes heavy through his head.

Lots of men are going to die tomorrow. Short of fleeing the city, and then, spending his life trying not to get killed when people find out of this cowardice (and he doesn’t fool himself into thinking they won’t), he has to be one of them.

Podrick, though, Tyrion could get him sent into the keep with the women, children, and eunuch.

Either the boy’s got too much pride, or he’s too loyal to Tyrion.

He’s not surprised to find Tyrion still awake.

“I was hoping you’d come.”

“Being with you last time brought good enough luck for me. Not sure if you being knocked out was for you or not.”

“Well, I survived. I’d call that lucky enough.”

Getting into bed, he sighs when his hand finds one of his favourite parts of Tyrion.

“I’m not sure there’s a direct correlation between us-”

He gives a small squeeze. “Do me a favour, and don’t. We’re both likely to die tomorrow. What I want is to wake up in the morning and not immediately remember this fact.”

“I’ll try my best to ensure you wake up in such a state.” Tyrion pulls him over for a kiss.

…

Walking out of the brothel, he grumbles, “This had better be truly a matter of life and death.”

He hadn’t gotten his money back. He might have been able to, but since, apparently, this is an emergency, he hadn’t bothered to see if Littlefinger was about.

“It is, ser,” Podrick says. “Lord Tyrion had me take one of Ser Jaime’s fastest horses.”

Which means he’s going to be renting a horse from the nearby stable; there’s no way he’s riding a horse with Pod. “Is this about the kingslayer?”

“I don’t think so, ser, but I don’t know.”

If it’s about the fact he was about to have some fun in the brothel-

“Ser Bronn, I know you and Lord Tyrion both are, uh, not promised to anyone. Even if there were some sort of- it wouldn’t be my place. Squires don’t get involved in the- what their lords or knights do, and what people with them do, it isn’t my place.”

He’s a little unnerved at how Podrick got such an accurate sense of where his thoughts were, but believing the words, he’s also significantly less annoyed.

At Pod, at least.

If Tyrion isn’t in danger, he’s going to kill Tyrion himself.

…

Checking to make sure no one is near, he says, “It’s been a month since your marriage.”

Tyrion looks up from his writing. “Normally, I’d commend you for finally showcasing an ability to understand how time works, not that I have much hope this will keep you from being late to escort me to yet another small council meeting, but I’m always wary when someone brings up my marriage to Lady Sansa.”

“If you’re not going to assert your husbandly rights, then, what’s the point of her sleeping in your chambers all the time?”

“I believe she’s more comfortable there. Perhaps- feels safer.”

Gods, it’s pathetic how hopeful Tyrion sounds.

“Fine, but she could be safe and comfortable without you there every night.”

“Are you missing me,” is the amused response.

“Yes.”

He’s had some fun with others, but it turns out there are certain things he’s gotten rather fond of doing with Tyrion specifically, and he’s given plenty of time. After a month, if the Stark girl hasn’t willingly fallen into Tyrion’s bed, then, short of Tyrion demanding it, she’ll never let him between her red thighs. And if Tyrion isn’t going to demand it, then, he’d really like to willingly fall into a bed, his, Tyrion’s, or just some old bed in some dusty corner of the castle that they can find, with Tyrion.

This might not happen, he knows. Tyrion might be the stupid type who believes marriage should mean fidelity; he wouldn’t put it past him. And even though this is no true marriage what with there being no consummation and it not being something the Stark girl wants at all and not something Tyrion wanted her to be forced into- Tyrion might decide to be pathetically hopeful of her eventually wanting a real marriage, and thus, decide not to break the vows that don’t even apply.

If not for Tyrion’s exasperating ideas of chivalry and romance, he’d have happily been with Lady Sansa’s new husband the night after her marriage, but that would have been pushing his luck too much.

Giving him a queer look, Tyrion asks, “Really?”

Not bothering to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, he closes the curtains and props a chair under the doorknob before coming over. “If you want, I’ll show you how much. But I’m adding conditions, now. We’re still making use of a bed on the occasional night. If you don’t want me coming to your chambers, fine, you can come to mine or find somewhere else with a bed, but there will be nights in bed. And it damn well better be a comfortable one.”

“Agreed.” Tyrion pulls him down for a kiss, and this quickly turns into more.

…

Getting drunk has had the opposite effect of what he wanted.

As a boy, he never understood most of the love songs. Why were people so desperate for one person? Why did they do stupid things for this person? Most of all, why was dying for someone considered romantic?

He’ll miss Tyrion, but he wouldn’t have fared any better against the Mountain than Oberyn had. And dying- That’s all he could do, now, die to maybe be with-

He doesn’t love Tyrion, but he will miss him.

Tyrion’s disappointed and hurt, but what did he expect?

One thing no one can accuse him of is ever lying. His loyalty came with conditions, and those conditions were: Money was well and good, he appreciated the knighthood, but if he were offered nobility, a good marriage, a chance to one day have a son or grandson without a bastard name to be rich and powerful and say ‘son of Bronn’ or ‘my grandfather was Lord Bronn’, well, he was going to take it. He wanted to bed the handsome lord, and since Tyrion wanted it, too, he had. It didn’t mean he’d stop bedding others, it didn’t mean he expected it of Tyrion, and it didn’t mean he’d be able to do anything when Tyrion’s quirm of a sister finally won.

It’s a bit surprising she didn’t manage to smother her little brother when he was a helpless babe or drop him into a well or off a cliff or summat.

If she had, he likely wouldn’t be into his- he doesn’t know how many cups and still not drunk enough right now.

There’s a knock at his door, and he isn’t quiet or tactful in yelling for whoever it is to go away.

Therefore, he’s a little surprised and mostly not when Pod comes in.

Did I even lock the door, he wonders. Does it have a lock?

“If you’re here to beg for the imp’s-”

“I know there’s nothing you can do, ser.”

If he weren’t so angry about the jug being poured out, he’d be offended by the words.

That, some part of him realises, might be a bit hypocritical.

“I just came to see if I could help you,” Pod continues. “I’m going to be leaving soon, ser.”

Something doesn’t make sense.

“Here, please, drink this, Ser Bronn.”

Bitter tea coats his tongue.

“Lord Tyrion told me about this Dornish drink similar to tea. It’s made of beans and very bitter. Best served hot, he said. He had some when he was younger, but since then, his sister and father have managed to block all trade of it. I’d hoped Prince Oberyn would have brought some, but since he did fight for our lord, I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

Pod has- gotten him undressed.

“Perhaps, soon, he’ll manage to taste it again.”

He laughs. “You think he won’t go straight to the hells?”

“Who can say, ser? I’m to squire for Lady Brienne of Tarth. Ser Jaime has arranged it.”

Good for the lad, he thinks. He never imagined Pod wouldn’t stay ‘til the bitter end, but there’s nothing the boy can do, either.

“It’s what he wants for you,” he offers.

“All will be better, soon, ser,” Pod softly says, and he’s vaguely aware of gentle hands guiding him. “Ser Jaime is a good man.”

“Wouldn’t go that far. Probably had a good reason for killing Aerys than he’s said, but he’s just as rotten as all of them, Tyrion included.”

He’s covered up.

Seeing Pod heading towards the door, he has to ask, “What’s made you decide to leave? Be Tarth’s squire?”

Pod stops. “I’d rather go where Lord Tyrion goes, Ser Bronn, but I owe Ser Jaime a great debt.”

Something- he wonders: Is Jaime going to save his little brother?

“What debt?”

“He’s Lord Tyrion’s brother.”

“Is he going to save him?”

“Best be careful, Ser Bronn. Ser Jaime’s never denied his treason in killing King Aerys, but accusing him of treason against his family, I’m not sure he could accept that. He still has to be around for King Tommen and Princess Myrcella and their mother.”

And he knows he’s drunk. He knows, even if Pod says what he wants to hear, it could just be Pod saying what he wants to hear. He knows, likely, if Jaime is planning to save Tyrion, one, would Podrick really be someone the kingslayer told, and two, Pod likely wouldn’t tell him, because- Podrick Payne might be shy and a bit clumsy, but he’s not stupid. Whether the lad has fond feelings towards him or not, Podrick has to see him clearly, clearer in some ways than Tyrion did.

Did.

Whatever the case, it’ll be ‘did’, but if Tyrion could escape to Dorne or across the seas or anywhere- Clever lord, he is. And for all the Lannisters don’t like their dwarf, he has some of their charm. Away from them, common folk might come to genuinely like and look up to him.

“I hope he saves ‘im.”

Podrick nods. “You’re drunk, Ser Bronn. Please, be careful in the morning not to say anything that could jeopardise your lordship.”

“You can stay. Sleep here like you do with him, if you want.”

“Thank you, ser.”

Pod gets settled into bed, and letting the drunkness fully overtake him, he slips into sleep.

…

Podrick has ridden away with the Tarth woman, and no one suspects the kingslayer of being behind Tyrion’s escape.

Unfortunately, Cersei made it so that he’d only receive a lordship upon marriage, and now, Jaime Lannister is ruining his future marriage.

“Let me guess, that old Stokeworth bitch has gotten in your sister’s ear?”

“Lady Tanda wasn’t exactly overjoyed with you wedding her daughter nor was her eldest daughter, but no.” Jaime glances over at where Lollys is flexing her toes in the water. “My sister wants you dead.”

At first, he thinks this is a joke, but studying Jaime’s face, he sees the truth.

“Does she think I helped Tyrion escape?”

“It’s not that. It’s that she thinks you might still be loyal if he should ever return. And-” He’s never seen Jaime hesitate so. “That she wants to destroy everything and everyone he cared about.”

“Including your- her children?”

Jaime gives him a disgruntled look. “She refuses to believe he did. She still insists he was behind Joffrey’s murder.”

He’d have happily killed the bastard king himself if not for knowing how badly Tyrion would have reacted, and Tyrion knew this. If Tyrion decided to do the smart thing and get rid of his wretched oldest nephew to make way for soft, kitten prince Tommen, well, it’s like Tyrion himself said at the trial: He would have been much, much smarter about it, not done it in front of a crowd of people and held the murder weapon in his hands for the whole crowd to see.

“He did kill our father,” Jaime adds.

Since the Queen regent wants him dead anyhow-

“Good,” he says. “So, are you here to see me dead?”

“No. I’m here to enlist you to go the Riverlands with me. I need to continue practising my swordsmanship.”

“What’s in the Riverlands?”

“The Blackfish continues to war with the Freys and Boltons.”

“I could marry Lollys, and then-”

“I give you my word: Help me do this, and I will see you married to a noble lady. You’ll be a lord. But Lady Tanda was always very kind to Tyrion, and for all I might kill that miserable imp if I ever see him again, she was kind simply, because, she’s a kind person. I don’t want to give Cersei any reason to go after her or her children.”

Part of him doesn’t either. He has no good feelings towards Lady Tanda or her eldest daughter, but Lollys, she would have made a good wife. She loves to talk, and though most of her chosen conversation topics are duller than dirt, she’s genuinely good-hearted, pretty, and has shown real excitement about their upcoming marriage.

He’s never going to find another noble lady, never mind a pretty, sweet one, who will be happy to marry _him_ of all people.

“We need to get something clear, first. I know what your brother tastes like inside and out. I didn’t love him, and I was going to let him die, but when I was in his service, I never shirked my duty when it came to protecting him. He was a friend.”

“None of that is treason, my lord,” he continues. “It might be frowned on, but none of it is illegal. Not like you knowing how your sister the Queen tastes inside and out would be. I didn’t have anything to do with Joffrey’s murder, but if not for Tyrion being sentenced to die, I would have been damn happy. That- it might be treason. But I wouldn’t directly attack little Tommen and Princess Myrcella.”

“You try to have me killed on this trip, though, you’d do very well to succeed. And if not, after, I’d better get my lordship and wife and a castle. Because, you never know what I might have heard, lying in your little brother’s bed, that I could use to convince others to remove your sister from her throne. If it gets her children killed or imprisoned, well, I won’t feel any guilt.”

Jaime is definitely surprised, but he can’t see any disgust or disgruntlement.

“Tyrion- he-” After a moment, Jaime says, “I always thought Oberyn was something of a special case. I knew there must be more like him in Dorne, but-” He shrugs.

“It wasn’t a case of making do for either of us. Your brother loved that wife that wasn’t, he probably loves Lady Sansa, too, and he preferred his whores to be women. I’m no whore. I usually prefer women, but there have been occasions when a man struck my fancy. Before the battle with the upstart Stark boy, he did. But like I said, I don’t love him, and this was mutual.”

Jaime nods. “I understand where we stand.” He offers his hand.

Automatically starting to reach over with his right hand, he quickly realises what he’s doing, and switching to his left hand, he shakes Jaime’s. “Alright, then. Now, you’re going to help me break the dissolution of my betrothal to Lollys to her.”

…

No one is happy in Winterfell.

The dragon queen doesn’t trust anyone outside of her loyal followers, some of the Stark brats have been reunited but aren’t particularly a happy, loving family, Podrick is fretting over Lady Brienne running herself haggard after both the brats and Jaime’s girl, and until Tyrion showed up, Myrcella and her Dornish prince refused to be more than a few steps away from Jaime or Brienne. The Hound is, somehow, alive, but his lack of happiness is one of the few reassuring things in these troubled times.

King’s Landing is still in shambles from what Queen Cersei did and her and Tommen’s quick deaths shortly after.

The few remaining Tyrells aren’t going to help with this war against the Others when everyone important from their two Queens and the flowers knight are dead.

Most of the people at the fallen wall and the wildlings who were being hosted are dead, and most of the men and wildlings Jon Snow has brought along aren’t getting along well with anyone.

Sitting in the room Sansa insisted be given to Tyrion (granted, it’s a room befitting a lord, but of course, she wouldn’t let her formally annulled husband in hers), he comments, “Gods, I remember when I used to think nothing could top your family for absolute mucked up madness. Of course, that was when almost every Targaryen was well and truly dead.”

Taking another drink, Tyrion nods. “You should do the sensible thing and head to the Iron Islands.”

“I’ve thought of that, but I wouldn’t survive long there, and if I survive this, your brother owes me a lordship, a wife, and a castle. This is one debt he or you or someone with the name Lannister will be paying. If I have to make my case to your niece, Myrcella, I will.”

Tyrion sighs. “She’s a Hill, though, she was raised with the Baratheon name.”

“Do you think I care? No more than I care that she’s missing an ear and has lost almost her entire family. If she loses you and Jaime, too, she still better find a way to get me what was promised.”

Other than an exasperated look, Tyrion doesn’t respond.

Trying not to sigh, he kicks Tyrion’s foot. “Any chance at all?”

“There is a small one,” Tyrion sighs. “If we can get enough tunnels built, if we can spare enough good fighters to deal with anything that might come out of the tombs-”

Sourness fills him. Good arguments had been made for emptying out the tombs in case the Others can make wights out of the dead, but those damn Starks refuse to let their ancestors’ remains be removed for burning and other methods of disposal.

“And if we can hold against the Others until Bran Stark can get the Night King in position for Queen Daenerys to strike. Then, well, there’s a chance of the world being saved. Everyone here, however, including us, I honestly don’t know.” Tyrion’s eyes are painfully- they’re just painful to look at. “You’d do well elsewhere, Bronn.”

“The Iron Islanders would respect your attitude. Dorne, as long as you don’t run into anyone who knows you were connected to my family, it could be nice. Get on a ship. It might be a miserable voyage, and no, you’ll never get your lordship or castle, but you could find a pretty young wife to give you sons. If we succeed here, you’ll live. And if we don’t, hopefully, you can be happy for a bit before they come for the rest of these seven kingdoms. Who knows, perhaps, there’s a place they can’t reach.”

He looks at Tyrion.

Once, Tyrion was handsome. Small, yes, but that didn’t do anything to add or take from his handsomeness. After the Blackwater battle, he was scarred, but he still had some charm to his looks.

Now, he not only looks much older than his years but also moves like an old man.

He’s still not going to die for this Lannister lord, but this battle will decide much greater things than Tyrion living or dying back then would have.

Setting his drink aside, he kisses him. “Make it so I don’t think about all this when I first wake up.”

Tyrion does, and even if no one else is happy, at least, he himself isn’t completely unhappy.

…

“Good morning, my lord.”

He waves for Podrick to sit down.

The boy’s gone, and now, a young knight is in his place.

Gods, he feels old.

“The world has gone mad. Queen Sansa Stark of the North, King Trystane and Queen Myrcella of Dorne, Queen Yara of the Iron Islands, King Gendry the Bastard of the Crownlands. I don’t know how Tyrion’s going to be Hand to the last one when he’s forever dealing with who all else should pledge to what Queen or King, and mark my words, there will be new self-proclaimed royalty popping up all the bloody time.”

Queen Daenerys died a hero, but there’s been a recent slew of people claiming to have Targaryen blood, and if any of them ever manages to tame the last remaining dragon- Never mind if that dragon ever comes back intent on attacking the kingdom.

Pod nods. “Yes, my lord, I imagine so. For now, Sers Jaime and Brienne are going to Tarth to wed, and I’m going with them. I’ve been sent to extend an invitation to you.”

He considers it.

“Nah. I’ve finally gotten my lordship, and I’m still considering the best options for my castle.”

“And a wife?”

Finishing the black bean tea that he’ll never admit he now understands why Tyrion yearned for it for so many years, he shrugs. “Chasing brats around is never something I’ve been cut out for. The songs will remember me.”

For a time, but then, for all he knows, he had some ancestor who did great things, and now, that ancestor’s name was likely carried forever away by the winds.

For as long as he lives, at least, Lord Bronn, knighted after the Blackwater battle and came out of the final stand against the Others alive, will be known and remembered.

“I’m happy for you, my lord.”

Making a decision, he says, “You might not be soon. Good luck, Ser Podrick.” Squeezing Pod’s shoulder, he leaves.

Of course, by the time he’s got all his bedding in his arms, he finds Pod standing outside his former room.

“Lord Bronn, if you say I don’t want to know- um, I’ll believe you, my lord. But may I ask? What you’re- doing? Going to do?”

“It’s barely worth it to have my bath here, change back into clothes, and then, go all the way to the Hand’s rooms. Even with them being downstairs instead of in a tower, I’m done with it. I don’t know how I’m getting my bed and tub there, but I’d like to see anyone stop me. It’ll be easy enough to get that child’s bed and small tub out. And if he doesn’t like it, then, he can either find me that wife or have me tossed in the dungeons.”

He’s not sure what he expected the response to be, but it wasn’t Pod somehow managing to get the bedding out of his hands followed by softly talking to some nearby servants with the end result being, despite the clear confusion, all his stuff, including his bed and tub, has been moved into the Hand’s chambers, and the small bed and tub is gone.

…

Waking up from his doze at the feeling of Tyrion crawling into bed, he asks, “Finally got that trade agreement with Naath signed?”

Tyrion kisses him. “Yes. And we’re having Greyworm and Missandei for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Unless you mean we’re eating them, _you’re_ having them over.”

“Bronn.”

“No. Be sure to get plenty of- what spice would go best with human flesh?”

“I could probably find the answer in the Bolton diaries Lady Arya found.”

“Don’t give any false apologises on my behalf.”

“Bronn, you’re going to be here. They like spending time with us. Mostly. They could do without your references to his lack of a cock, but it’s not as if they haven’t heard much worse. I promise, after they’re gone, I’ll make it so that, in the morning, you won’t even remember them being here.”

He laughs. “You really think you can do that?”

Tyrion presses closer against him. “Oh, I’m absolutely sure of it.”

As much as he doesn’t want to spend several hours listening to discussions on butterflies and have to sit through several boring toasts to the dragon queen, he’s pretty sure of it, too.


End file.
